


Shattered Sunlight

by sanity_not_in_tact



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack, Poetic, So here's this, also reading smth that inspired me to write wankily, also! wanted to try smth with little dialogue, and it kinda bothered me, but like, chainsaw has a cameo, his reasons for hiding his past from his new friends at college, i am no poet, or smth, set at the barns, that is... a sentence, the others aren't even mentioned lol soz, there's mentions of abuse but nothing that doesn't happen in the books, this is the best i could cook up, this takes place before Adam goes to college, u know - Freeform, was never really fully delved into
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanity_not_in_tact/pseuds/sanity_not_in_tact
Summary: There is gold everywhere, streaming in from the view outdoors and lighting up the timber, the glass on the floor, the wetness still clinging to the kitchen sink; it flashes across my vision in rainbows as the tears clinging to my eyelashes refract it every so often. I am just a boy, who wants to curl back up on the couch like before and stare on and on at every inch of Ronan Lynch while he busies himself feeding his bird.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Shattered Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> :/ abuse sucks
> 
> this is shockingly not about me for once lmao. the abuse i was subjected to as a child is nothing like what adam went through. my father loved me, he was just mentally sick and a bad parent early on in my life. we have since mended things and i no longer fear him, which is a bonus i didn't expect. he's got a new kid now, and he's doing it right this time. i'm so proud of him and my little half sister is the cutest. <3
> 
> enjoy my lame attempt at prose

My heart is rushing onward in leaps and bounds, my hand in its grasp, laughing with its face turned to the heavens and saying _for the love of all that is holy, follow the boy who loves you_. My mind is stubborn. It grasps onto old realities, comprised of gravel drives and corrugated iron and abandoned tires with the tread worn down; commercial radio ringing in the ear that no longer hears anything real at all; bone crushing under blunt force and the smell of vodka and cigarettes extinguished in empty cups which lie around on the linoleum furniture and leave watermarks that will never rub off.

A pair of eyes float in front of me. My own eyes dart to the side so that I don’t fall into the black voids in the centre of each blue iris. The hands on my arms aren’t my father’s, they’re _his._ He is trying to say something but the ringing in my good ear blocks out his voice. The whole world splits into a perfect double as my eyes cross to watch his lips instead. His forehead leans up against mine, a bookend firmly holding my thoughts in place lest they topple onto the floor and leave only madness in their wake.

He says my given name and for once I am thankful that he doesn’t use the family name which I associate with a past life.

He is saying _you are here with me._ But I am not. I am yelling and screaming at the shitty old trailer to leave me alone but it follows at my heels, snuffling in the dirt scuffed up by my shoes as I attempt to run away from it and waiting for me to trip so that it might topple me and gnaw at the soft parts of my body where the bruises used to be.

He is telling me _it’s okay. We can buy another. Hell, I can just dream one up._

It takes seconds too long to remember what he is referring to, longer still to recall that it’s the thing which started this waking nightmare: the broken glass shattered on the floor. The glistening shards dance in my vision, creating a kaleidoscope of the orange sunset filtering through the barn house windows.

My whole universe gushes loudly in my ears as if a hurricane lifted the roof of reality straight off – the sound of air quickly entering my lungs. The world tilts in the same vein: blood rushing to my brain. It’s raining on my palms and my chin. Warm and glistening, fogging up the windows before it falls down my cheeks.

I numbly note that I am trying to speak. I am not having a lot of success, but I need to tell him something. That he is the most magical thing in the world. That I am sorry for existing in his orbit, tugging him out of his perfect ellipse around the sun. Or maybe he is the sun.

 _What are you seeing, Adam?_ He says.

_Everything all at once. Nothing I want you to see. There is nothing to gain from dragging you into this place in my head. This is the cruel dream which was only ever meant for me._

Is that what I said? No matter, it’s what I thought, and I am certain that he can hear my thoughts. He is magical enough, and my memories are loud enough to be heard from miles away.

His hands are on my face like a warm blanket catching the body heat before it spills out of me. He is searching for something in my eyes. I won’t hand it to him. I let my eyes dart around frantically so he can’t catch the little sad messages pouring out of them.

Right now, as I can hardly breathe and panic coils sickeningly in my chest, it occurs to me how beautiful this new life is of mine. There is gold everywhere, streaming in from the view outdoors and lighting up the timber, the glass on the floor, the wetness still decorating the kitchen sink; it flashes across my vision in rainbows as the tears clinging to my eyelashes refract it every so often. I am just a boy, who wants to curl back up on the couch like before and stare on and on at every inch of Ronan Lynch while he busies himself feeding his bird. My feet are stuck to the floor, so I lean instead on the bench behind me, and I stare instead at the dream objects littered around. There is so much beauty in the world already, without real magic, and yet here it is, so vibrant with beauty it almost hurts to look at. All the purest creations that were cooked up in Ronan’s mind as if, of course, it’s perfectly natural to have an imagination which is so fit to burst with whimsy that it actually does spill out into the real world.

The present day is seeping back into my awareness. The sensations running through me no longer seem like a fantasy and the new distance between myself and the most important person in the history of spacetime means that I can reach across and pull him towards myself. I press him close to me, chest-to-chest. My mind’s eye watches the bruise there, right over my heart, turn to yellow and then white as i press into him, and then back to purple when I release him to tell him I’m okay.

That bruise won’t heal like the others did. But, for now, I can go on as if it isn’t there and maybe, someday, I won’t mind that it’s there at all. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind. He has never looked at me like I am filth, even in the days when he pretended that he didn’t like me very much.

I laugh, because he mentions, in his usual foul manner of speaking, that we have to clean up the glass before one of us gets injured. His dream creature caws _Kerah_ , and I promise myself that, whenever I am not inside this boy’s home, I will be able to pretend that I am not bruised. Not one human soul from here to the end of the earth has permission to see my damage except for Ronan Lynch.

**Author's Note:**

> i n e v e r write in this style. nice change.
> 
> comments and kudos might help make me feel less silly for attempting something i'm so inept at. wld appreciate them even if you do have some critique to impart.


End file.
